


MERRY CHRISTMAS IZZY (because i'm too lazy to think of an actual title)

by NewtsOfTheRoundTable



Series: Thominewt Oneshots [5]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Bad Use of British Slang, Drunk confessions, I Tried, M/M, Mutual Pining, Vomiting, fluff? sort of at the end ig, i dont even know what this is, idek, im sorry, kinda accidental gaslighting, slow burn-kind of, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewtsOfTheRoundTable/pseuds/NewtsOfTheRoundTable
Summary: Au where Newt and Minho wake up in the Glade holding hands
Relationships: Minho/Newt (Maze Runner)
Series: Thominewt Oneshots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018719
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	MERRY CHRISTMAS IZZY (because i'm too lazy to think of an actual title)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I don't really have an update schedule-basically whenever I find the time to type stuff up. I'm facing some writer's block rn so if I don't update in a while, I promise I'm not dead...just lacking inspiration.
> 
> Aaaaaaaaaanyways, this one's part of a secret santa project I'm doing with my (internet) friends. I don't think the person I'm writing it for has ao3, but I'm still putting it up here 'cause why not.
> 
> Some things might not be entirely accurate; that's because the TMR universe is a weird mix of the books and the movies in my head-pretty much everything is the same as it is in the books, but the bonfires are a thing. Hope you like it!

Newt

The boy woke with a gasp. His mind was blank, he couldn't remember anything-why couldn't he remember anything? A name popped into his head, and he clung to it, as if it would disappear if he didn't actively focus on remembering. Newt. My name is Newt.

He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. Maybe if he wasn't panicking, his mind would work a little better.

Newt sat up and looked around. It looked like he was in some sort of courtyard, four walls boxing him in. As he looked around, he realized with a start that his hand was gripping someone else's, tight enough that his knuckles were white. He loosened his grip but didn't let go as he looked to his left. The guy next to him was still asleep. He had black hair and looked to be pretty athletic.

Wait. What did he look like? Newt looked around frantically-noticing other boys starting to get up-as if there would be a mirror conveniently lying around somewhere.

His thought process-how do I know what a mirror is but I can't remember looking in one?-was interrupted by a groan coming from his left. It was the guy he had been holding hands with-was still holding hands with, he realized. Oddly, the thought made him smile.

"Ugh...where am I?" the guy mumbled, still half-asleep. A moment passed, and he sat bolt upright. "Wha-what the hell? Who are you? Why can't I remember anything?" He noticed his hand clutching Newt's, and even more confusion clouded his face. "W-what the hell?" he asked again.

"I don't know," Newt answered honestly. "My guess is that they don't, either." A thought occurred to him, and he asked, "can you remember your name? I can-my name's Newt."

The other boy stood up and started pacing, extracting his hand from Newt's in the process. "I...Minho. I think."

"Okay. Minho," he said, trying the name out. It sounded nice on his tongue. "We should probably talk to them. Maybe someone knows something."

Minho sighed. "Doubt anyone knows anything, but yeah. It'd be good to touch base, figure out what we're gonna do next." He glanced up at the walls surrounding the area. "How to get out."

Minho

It had been a few months, and the Glade had settled into a tentative routine. Minho was a Runner, and he ran through the Maze every day, searching for a way out.

Newt, the blond boy whose hand he had been holding on the first day, was a Runner too. Minho saw him every day at some point or another, but they never spoke, both too unsure of what to say. At first, it had worked fine for Minho, but lately he had been rethinking it. Sure, he was friendly with Alby and some other kids, but he still felt...distant. Almost as if no one really knew him.

He held out for the next two weeks or so, stealing glances at Newt but hoping that he wouldn't have to be the one to come up to the other, until eventually he caved.

The doors had closed and the Runners, who had finished drawing up the Maps, started to file out of the map room. Taking a deep breath, Minho tapped Newt on the shoulder. The boy turned around and, upon recognizing Minho, shifted uncomfortably. "Uh...yeah?" he asked, a little nervously.

"Hey," Minho said. As soon as the word left his mouth, he felt like an idiot. "I, uh..."

"You want to talk," Newt guessed. "About..." He swallowed. "First Day?"

"Um...yeah," Minho said. "I mean, I just don't really want it to be awkward. Like, we're Runners. Who knows? One day, my life might depend on yours, or vice versa, and I mean...feels like we should at least know each other." It was a lame excuse, but there was no way he'd outright admit that he inexplicably felt drawn to the other boy.

"Right," Newt said. "So...we just...what, start hanging around each other all the time?"

"I mean, not all the time. Like, you don't have to-I just..." He sighed. "Look, can we just forget that that ever happened?"

An odd expression crossed Newt's face, then quickly disappeared. "Yeah," he said after a moment's hesitation. "Sure."

Newt

Can we just forget that that ever happened? Newt mulled over the phrase as he laid down to go to sleep that night. He didn't think that Minho had meant to be rude, but still. A part of him felt saddened by the words.

A part of him didn't want to forget.

Still, though. At least Minho wanted to be friends, or friendly, or not awkward, whatever. It's better than nothing, he told himself.

He tried to sleep, but found that he couldn't-his mind kept circling back to the conversation with Minho. The other boy had approached him first. Newt had wanted to-had almost done so several times, in fact, but had never gone through with it. He took it as a good sign that Minho had been so desperate to talk to him that he didn't care whether or not it was awkward.

Then again, he could be horribly misinterpreting it, and Minho truly did just want a normal, non-awkward relationship.

Confessing that he'd felt drawn to the other boy-and not in a purely platonic way, either-since they'd woken up with hands entwined would probably make it awkward. It was almost as if...he shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any thoughts of Minho. He failed miserably, of course, but still. It was an attempt.

The next morning, things felt simultaneously less and more awkward with Minho-less in the sense that they had agreed to stop ignoring each other, but more in the sense that they had actually had that conversation. Had acknowledged that it had really happened, and that Newt hadn't just imagined the whole hand-holding episode. They nodded to each other and even said a quick "hey", but nothing more.

While running the Maze that day, Newt couldn't focus. He was so absorbed in his thoughts of Minho, in fact, that he would've forgotten the layout of the section that he was running if it hadn't been for the sloppy notes he had taken.

That evening, Newt was the one to walk up to Minho. "Hey," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Hey," Minho said cautiously. "What's up?"

"Nothin', really," he answered. "I just, uh...how did it go?" he asked, nodding towards the now-closed doors of the Maze.

Minho shrugged. "Good enough. You?"

"Same thing."

After a moment's pause, Minho cleared his throat and gestured towards where the other Gladers were getting ready for bed. "I'm gonna..."

"Right, yeah. Same." Newt hesitated, then added, "good night."

Minho smiled. "Night, Newt."

Minho

How did it go? The question usually pissed off Minho-they'd been there for months, and still didn't have a clue how to get out-but when Newt had asked, it had done almost the exact opposite.

Maybe it had to do with how he'd said it. He'd asked as if he didn't care about what Minho found, but as if he cared about Minho himself.

He sighed. He was probably reading too deeply into it-they'd had a grand total of three conversations in the months that they'd been there, none of which had lasted longer than a minute. But still. He'd take what he could get.

Minho huffed out another sigh and shifted in his hammock. Newt probably just wanted to be friends, and he'd respect that.

The next morning, he walked up the the other boy while they were getting ready to run the Maze. "Hey," he said, standing over Newt, who was tying his shoelaces.

Newt glanced up, then did a double take. "H-hey," he said as he stood, grabbing his Runner's pack and glancing at his watch. "What's up?"

"N-nothing," Minho said as they walked over to the Doors. "Just...be careful."

Newt looked at him strangely, then nodded. "I'll do my best." As the walls started to open and they prepared to run, he yelled "you too" over the noise.

Then he was gone, sprinting into the unknown.

Once the other boy had disappeared behind a corner, Minho smiled to himself, then began to run.

"That didn't go so bad," he murmured to himself. "Not so bad at all."

Newt

That night, Minho was the one to start the conversation, as usual. "Hey," he said, walking up to where Newt was sitting against a tree, eating dinner. "Mind if I sit here?"

Newt looked up and smiled. "Yeah, yeah, sit," he said, moving over to make room. Minho sat down with a groan. "You okay there?" Newt asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "Tripped over nothin' and shucking face-planted, but fine."

"Well okay then," Newt said with a grin. "How'd you trip over nothing?"

Minho lifted one shoulder and let it drop in a half-shrug, cheeks burning red. "Dunno. Wasn't focusing, I guess. Was...thinking of something else."

Newt tilted his head. "What else is there to think about?" he asked. "I mean, the buggin' Maze is everything."

Minho's eyes flicked up to meet Newt's. "Not everything," he murmured, so soft that Newt wasn't sure whether he had imagined it or not.

"Well, that was cryptic," he said, bumping Minho's shoulder with his own. Internally, however, he was far from the casual exterior he put on. Did he really just say...? he wondered. Then again, he could always be horribly misinterpreting the other boy's words and actions.

He probably was.

Minho's eyes widened. "Oh-I-I..." He stood up abruptly, leaving his food. "I...don't f-feel good," he stammered, then walked away, leaving a bewildered Newt in his wake.

Minho

Minho walked in the direction of the Med-jack hut until he was confident that he was out of Newt's view, then abruptly changed direction and sprinted to the Deadheads. He hadn't been completely lying to Newt-he felt sick to his stomach after what he had accidentally just said.

He sat down with his back to a tree and buried his face in his hands. "Good job, shuck-face, you ruined it," he muttered to himself. After all, there was no way Newt could interpret his words as anything other than what they were-an affirmation of his feelings for the other boy.

This is stupid, he told himself. You don't even know him. You've had, what, four conversations? Besides, he's probably not even into guys.

Still though, no amount of logic or cynicism could erase his feelings.

Minho groaned. How had this even happened? He had been perfectly fine at first, until eventually he just...hadn't. He'd been drawn to Newt like a magnet-though who could blame him? The other boy had an alluring aura, one that was impossible to ignore.

Closing his eyes, Minho sighed heavily and tried to think about anything other than Newt. He stayed like that for a long time, long enough that the other Gladers had all gone to bed.

He would've stayed like that, not moving, for longer if he hadn't been interrupted by a soft "hey." Technically, he hadn't heard that voice very much, but he would recognize it anywhere. It was Newt.

Newt

The instant the word left Newt's mouth, he regretted it. He didn't know how to talk to Minho, who was clearly exhausted, overwhelmed, or both. He opened his mouth again to apologize, the words, "sorry, I'll leave you alone" on the tip of his tongue, when the other boy dropped his hands and lifted his head.

"Hey," Minho said, his voice rough, as if he hadn't spoken in hours-which, Newt realized, he probably hadn't. He snapped back to focus-the other boy was talking.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Newt asked, feeling like an idiot.

Minho cracked a weary grin. "I said, can't sleep? C'mere, sit."

Newt smiled and plopped down next to Minho. They were so close, but not quite touching. It was a special torture, Newt thought, to be so close to someone you care about, something you want, but be unable to touch it, to feel it, to have it. He kept the grin on his face, though. "Nope," he responded, running a hand through his hair. "Same thing with you?"

"Didn't really try, though I s'pose I probably wouldn't be able to."

Newt nodded, and the two lapsed into silence. What was there to say, after all, when you have perhaps four months of memories and the one thing that consumes your life is something you despise, something you wish you had never heard of?

Besides, it wasn't really an uncomfortable silence-sure, it wasn't amicable or friendly by any means, but it wasn't tense, either.

Newt leaned his head back against the tree with a yawn. Strangely, he was content here, sitting on the uncomfortable ground with someone who was practically a stranger in the center of a Maze built by some very twisted people.

He sighed. Minho looked so...he searched his foggy mind for an adequate adverb-no, that was an adjective, right? He couldn't remember-but came up blank. Indescribable, he thought, and it was true. There was no other word that could even come close to capturing Minho, his essence.

He wanted to keep looking, but found that he couldn't keep his eyes open. He saw Minho look over at him, a strange expression on his face, before he let his eyes close.

The last thing he registered was his head falling to the side, and then there was darkness.

Minho

"Indescribable."

There was no way to be sure that that had been what Newt had murmured, but that had been exactly what it sounded like. Minho looked over at Newt, some mixture of shock, happiness, confusion, and doubt on his face, just in time to see the other boy's eyes close. Newt leaned to the side, resting his cheek on Minho's shoulder, causing him to smile.

They stayed like that for a long while. At some point or another, Newt had shifted so that he was putting almost all of his weight on Minho. He didn't mind, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite-he reveled in every inch of contact, of every spot where his skin or even just the fabric of his clothing touched Newt's.

It felt like fire almost, or an electric shock. No, he mused, fireworks, a sensation of heat starting in his gut and spreading through his body, lighting his nerve endings on fire and rendering him unable to do anything but look, to absorb the reality that was Newt. His only reality at the moment-he knew that in a few hours he would get up to run the Maze and map its corridors, but it was a numb, distant realization, like something out of a dream.

No. This was the dream, imagining meanings to words he had probably misheard and pretending as if he and Newt could ever be anything.

"You can't," he whispered to himself. He wasn't sure what, precisely, he was forbidding himself from doing, but the words sounded hollow and wrong, as if the mere possibility of not being with Newt was just...he searched his mind but couldn't find an appropriate synonym for "wrong."

It was, though. The words made him feel sick to his stomach, the feeling you get when you stay up late even though you know you have to get up early the next morning, the feeling you get when you get a final back and the paper is marred with red ink.

Speaking of not getting enough sleep...

Minho sighed and closed his eyes, tilting his head so that his temples were touching the top of Newt's head. He didn't know it at that point, but they would stay like that for the rest of the night.

Relaxing his muscles and steadying his breaths, Minho was finally able to slip into oblivion.

Newt

The next morning, Newt woke a few minutes early. For a second, confused thoughts flashed through his head-where are you what's going on what happened why aren't you in your hammock-before he remembered.

He stood up abruptly, jostling Minho, who had been leaning against Newt. The other boy didn't wake up, thankfully.

Newt looked down at him, running a hand through his hair. He had a choice-he could wake Minho and let him remember, or he could pretend to have slept somewhere else, making Minho think that it had all been a dream.

He wasn't proud of it, but he chose the second option. Better to play it safe than risk making their tenuous friendship awkward again.

That day, there was a new Greenie-Newt had completely forgot until he returned and saw a wide-eyed kid who looked to be maybe a year younger than him watching the other Gladers prepare the bonfire. They had started doing it fairly recently, though all of the Gladers enjoyed it-especially when it involved Gally's moonshine.

He quickly drew up a map of the Maze, then walked over to where the Gladers were gathering. He soon located Minho and the rest of the Runners and sat with them, greeting them with a "hey."

Minho nodded at him. "Hey," he replied.

Just then, four Gladers lit the bonfire, and a cheer went up. Minho stood. "C'mon, let's go get some of Gally's moonshine," he said to Newt. "I don't know what he puts in it, but damn it's good."

Newt smiled and stood up too. "Anyone want us to grab you some?" he asked the other Runners, and a chorus of "me!"s rose up. "Well," Newt said with a grin. "Guess we'd better hurry up."

Minho

The night passed in a blur of color and light. Despite Minho's drunken pleas, Newt only drank a couple sips of moonshine.

"C'mon, Newtieeee," Minho slurred. "Why not?"

Newt laughed. "Take a look at yourself, shank. I'd prefer to keep my wits about me tonight."

Minho pouted. "Awww, Newtie...Just-"

"No," he said firmly. "I think you should get to bed, Minho." Newt started to stand, but Alby cut him off.

"Nah, I got it," he said. "Go enjoy yourself."

"You sure?" Newt asked doubtfully.

"Yeah, " Alby replied. "You've been babysitting Minho for the past hour. Go have fun." Seeing Newt's unconvinced look, he added, "you work too hard, Newt. I got it."

"Well, if you're sure..." Newt said, still clearly uncertain.

"I am," Alby confirmed. "C'mon, Minho, let's go." He helped his friend up, and together they started walking to Minho's hammock, the Runner leaning heavily on his friend.

As Alby got Minho to lie down, he drunkenly murmured, "he's so pretty, right?"

"Huh?" Alby asked, startled.

"Newtie," Minho clarified with a sigh. "He's so pretty."

"Uhhh...if you say so," his friend replied uncertainly.

"Yeah! I think I'm in love with him," he confided. It was supposed to be a whisper, but it came out much louder than he intended.

"I-okay then," Alby said. After a pause, he shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I'm gonna head back to the party. Seeya tomorrow, I guess."

"Bye, Albyyyy," Minho slurred, then promptly rolled over and fell asleep, achingly, achingly alone.

Newt

"Newt," a voice said.

He turned and saw Ben, another Runner. "Hm?"

"Er-nothing," Ben said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I mean, I just...I thought you and Minho hated each other."

"Huh? No, no, we don't...we just weren't very close, I guess," Newt replied with a nervous laugh.

Ben nodded, but he looked unconvinced. "Yeah. Well, it's cool that you're getting along better, I guess." After a pause, he added, "well, I'm gonna...go..."

"Right...seeya," Newt replied.

After Ben went on his way, Newt decided to go to bed. It had been a long night, after all, and he still had to get up to run the Maze the next morning. The thought made him groan out loud.

As he walked to his hammock, he passed Alby, who looked shell-shocked, as if he'd just learned that aliens were real, or as if he had figured out a way out of the Maze. To Newt, the two mysteries were on the same level.

"Hey," he said to Alby with a nod.

Alby startled, eyes widening. "I...H-hey, Newt."

"You okay?" Newt asked, concerned. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Y-yeah, I'm...good," his friend said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he replied, more confidently this time.

"Well, if you say so," Newt said, still somewhat unconvinced but unable to really do anything about it.

"Yeah." They paused awkwardly, then Alby added, "well...I'll see you around, I guess."

"Yeah, seeya," Newt said, then walked back to his hammock, still thinking about the two strangest conversations he'd ever had.

Minho

He had the weirdest dream that night.

Minho woke up in the middle of the night, stomach churning. He got to his feet, sweating yet trembling from an invisible chill. He stumbled a stone's throw away from the slumbering Gladers, then threw up into a bush.

Gagging, Minho dropped to his knees in the grass. He felt another bout of nausea and puked again, then wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and groaned.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back, rubbing in a circular motion. He knew who it was without even looking up.

Newt continued to rub his back soothingly as Minho threw up again, then clutched his stomach with another groan. "I feel like klunk," he muttered, just in time for another bout of nausea to hit. This time, however, nothing came up-he was dry-heaving at this point.

"Hey, you're okay," Newt murmured, squatting next to Minho, and he knew it was a dream because of how soft the other boy's voice was. "You're okay, I'm here."

Minho looked up at Newt, and the knowledge that it was a dream bolstered his confidence.   
"Wait, this is another dream, right?" he asked.

Newt's face changed-he looked saddened, or maybe even surprised-as he asked, "another dream? What was the first?"

"Y'know, when we were sleeping by the tree. At first I thought it was real, but you weren't there when I woke up, and you never mentioned anything anyways, so..."

It was definitely sadness on Newt's face as he murmured, "yes. That." He hesitated, then told Minho, "you're right. This is another dream."

Minho nodded. "Okay. Well, I'm gonna...try and wake up, I guess. This dream sucks." Hastily, he added, "not because of you! Because of the..." He sighed, unsure of why he was explaining himself to a figment of his imagination.

Newt nodded. "Yeah, well," he said, standing. "I'll...clean that up. Go back to sleep."

Minho stood and frowned. "Wait, I thought this was the dream, though."

Newt hesitated. "It is. But you have to...fall asleep to leave."

Minho's brow creased, but then he shrugged. "Okay," he simply said, then started to head back to his hammock. Hell if he knew how these things worked.

As he walked away, he heard Newt exhale shakily, almost as if he was relieved. He barely registered it, though, and by the time morning came, he had forgotten all about it.

Newt

The next morning, Newt saw Minho as they were getting ready to run the Maze. Minho had an odd look on his face. Probably thinking about the 'dream', Newt thought. A wave of guilt hit him-he didn't like lying to the other boy, after all-but he shoved it away. Sure, it was selfish, but he didn't want to lose Minho.

Despite his inner turmoil, Newt kept a calm exterior as he nodded to Minho. His friend-were they friends? Yes, Newt decided, they were-stared at him for a second before nodding back.

That week was more tiring than usual, and they barely spoke. In fact, while it got better after the initial week, they still didn't talk that much, to Newt's disappointment.

He wasn't sure whether it was because they were busy or because Minho was unsure of what to say to him after his 'dream', but either way, it absolutely sucked.

Newt sighed. The bonfire was in two days, so maybe he'd get to talk to Minho then.

If he could survive the time before the bonfire without him, of course.

Time seemed to crawl by a snail's pace, but eventually the day came. Newt couldn't focus at all as he ran, but screw the Maps. They hadn't been making any progress, so what would one section from one day do?

Besides, this was more important.

Once he got back to the Glade, he dashed off a sloppy-and probably inaccurate-Map. He quickly put it away, then headed over to the already-lit bonfire, searching for Minho.

After a minute of scanning the crowd, he located the Runners and hurried over to sit with them. Newt was tempted to smile, but he suppressed the urge. After all, the hardest part-getting Minho alone to talk about the past month-was yet to come.

Minho

As he saw Newt approach, Minho forced himself to take several steadying breaths. He knew it wasn't fair to Newt to ignore him because of some stupid dream he'd had, but he didn't know how to act casual around him. Not anymore.

Snap out of it, he told himself. You're pining. It's pathetic.

Still though, his stomach flipped as Newt walked over and sat next to him. They nodded to each other but didn't speak.

After a little while, the Greenie-Jackson or Jonathan or something-suggested that they play a game called Truth or Dare. None of the other Gladers had heard of it, so he quickly explained the rules.

"Basically, if someone askes you 'Truth or Dare?', you say either 'truth' or 'dare.' If it's 'truth', they ask you one question which you have to answer honestly. If it's 'dare', then they dare you to do something. You can pass on answering a question or doing a dare, but you usually get punished somehow.

"How about," Minho said, "you have to take a shot of Gally's moonshine?"

Gally snorted. "Hardly a punishment," he muttered.

"It is if you drink enough," Minho countered. Turning to the Greenie, he asked, "does that work?"

"Sure," the kid responded with a shrug.

The game commenced, and to most everyone's surprise, people had to get up to get more drinks after a couple of complete rounds. Minho, like everyone else, didn't expect to not want to answer any questions, but some had him reaching for a glass almost before the person asking had finished-namely, "what's the weirdest dream you've ever had?" Newt took his fair share of shots too, and Minho could tell that he was beginning to feel the effects.

"Minho!" Ben said with a smile. "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare!" Minho said.

"Climb up and down the watchtower, then run back over here in three minutes," Ben told him. "If you fail, you have to chug a glass of moonshine. Or," he finished with a too-nonchalant shrug, "you can play it safe and just take a little sip."

The realistic part of Minho knew that his chances were low, but his competitive side won out. "You're on!" he exclaimed, prompting a cheer from the other boys.

Ben looked at his watch. "Alright, go!" he shouted, and Minho was off.

Newt

Newt watched with a grin as Minho took off like a shot, sprinting over to the watchtower and starting to head up. Still, despite his athleticism, time was not on his side, and he was still about five feet off the ground on his way down when Ben called time.

Shoulders slumping, he jumped to the ground and walked over to accept a glass of moonshine, which he downed in two gulps, to the amazement and excitement of the other Gladers. Newt joined them in the cheers.

A few minutes later, it was Winston's turn. "Newt," he said, turning to face the blond. "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare," Newt responded. Sure, maybe it wasn't the best idea to take a dare, but he had drank enough moonshine to not really care.

"I dare you to kiss Minho," Winston said immediately.

Newt turned to face Minho. Even through his alcohol-riddled brain, concern flashed through him. "Are you okay with that?" he asked. "If you want, I could take the shot..." In truth, he thought he'd throw up if he had to take another sip, but wasn't that better than making Minho uncomfortable?

His fellow Runner opened his mouth to speak. "Nah," he said cheerfully. "It's okay. I want to kiss you."

Sober Newt probably would've taken a minute to process the second half of his statement, but this Newt just smiled happily and leaned forwards, causing another round of cheers from the watching Gladers.

Kissing Minho felt like taking the first sip of alcohol, but magnified-heat shot through Newt's veins and gathered in the pit of his stomach. It felt amazing, and he never wanted it to stop.

He did, though-or rather, Jeff stopped them by clearing his throat loudly. With a nervous laugh, Newt climbed off of Minho's lap-when had that happened? "Right, sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair. Alright, one more round, and then I'm gonna get some sleep."

"Let's make it count, then!" Zart whooped, causing yet another set of cheers to rise up.

Minho

When Newt eventually excused himself from the game, Minho stood as well. "Think I'm gonna go to bed too," he said. A few Gladers exchanged glances, but they bid them good night without any other comments.

Minho stumbled away from the group, following Newt. When the blond had settled down in his hammock, Minho plopped down next to him.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Newt asked with a giggle.

"I wanna cuddle with you," Minho said matter-of-factly. "C'mon, Newtie," he said, slurring his words more than a little. "You're so cute and..." He searched his mind for a few minutes before deciding on the appropriate word. "Cuddly," he finished with a lopsided grin.

"And you, Minho, look very huggable," Newt replied as he nuzzled into Minho's shoulder. Minho planted a kiss on Newt's forehead before adjusting his position. They were now lying next to each other, Minho's left arm around Newt, pulling him in close.

"Minho?" Newt suddenly murmured. "What if we were holding hands in the Box for a reason? Like, what if we knew each other...before, and we were..."

Minho blinked. He had never actually thought of that, but it made sense. "It's certainly possible," he replied, gently pushing Newt's hair out of his face. "I'd like to think so."

Newt smiled but didn't verbally respond.

Minho felt a wave of happiness-no, ecstasy-as he glanced down at Newt, threading a hand through his soft hair. The blond murmured something unintelligible and snuggled closer, prompting another burst of warmth.

After a few minutes, Newt's breathing evened out, and he started letting out soft snores. Seeing him sleep suddenly reminded Minho that he, too, was exhausted.

He let out a yawn and pulled Newt even closer, then quickly drifted off into a deep slumber.

Newt

The next morning, Newt woke up with a killer headache. He groaned, and the sound brought him out of his muddled thoughts.

With a start, he realized that someone's arm was around him. A wave of déjà vu hit him as he looked over and saw Minho lying next to him, unconscious.

Like on the day it all started, his mind was blank at first, until he had a moment of clarity-this time in the form of memories, not a name.

Newt felt his face heat. He couldn't remember everything, but what he did remember was enough to understand why Minho's arm was haphazardly thrown around his shoulders. His blush intensified as he heard a groan, then looked over to meet Minho's eyes.

"Hey," Newt murmured. He swallowed. "Uh, do you think we can talk about last night?" He didn't know when they'd get another chance, and he didn't want to have another 'awkwardly ignoring each other' session.

"Yeah, sure," Minho said. He raised a brow, clearly inviting Newt to speak.

"Uh...so...about that kiss," he started awkwardly. "Um...it doesn't have to mean anything. I mean, we were both drunk and a little out of our minds and-"

Minho cut him off. "Do you want it to mean anything?" he asked quietly.

Newt was caught slightly off-guard. "Er, well...not if you don't want it to."

Minho blushed, and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I mean...Drunk Minho wasn't exactly lying," he admitted. "He did want to kiss you. I want to kiss you."

Newt felt himself grin. "Well, that's good, 'cause I want to kiss you, too."

"Do it, then," Minho challenged with a mischievous smirk. Newt was powerless to resist that grin, even if he wanted to, so he did.

Minho

He never slept alone from that day on. Even on the rare occasions when they fought, they always made up by nightfall, and they would cuddle and kiss and whisper to each other underneath the stars until they drifted off.

After that night, Minho never had a dream of Newt-just the reality of the boy who was his everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, that was a long one. I spent, like, two hours typing this up because I was too lazy to start typing it until the day we were giving the gifts.
> 
> (Also I'm now realizing that Newt was essentially gaslighting Minho there. Romanticizing that was not my intention, and I apologize if you took it that way. DO NOT GASLIGHT PEOPLE. GASLIGHTING (or any other kind of abuse) IS BAD.)
> 
> Anyways, uh, I hope you still enjoyed it. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanza, Happy Newt Year (hehe), overall thank you for reading this (and hopefully not hating it), and have an amazing holiday season!


End file.
